


Any Other Fool

by cristianoronaldo



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M, study abroad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cristianoronaldo/pseuds/cristianoronaldo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iker and Cristiano are forced to attempt a long distance relationship when Iker studies abroad in Madrid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Other Fool

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to make a mix for this fic later. I'm bellaaros on 8tracks. Check that later if you want.

“Look at the view,” Iker said, holding the phone to his ear. “Isn’t it beautiful?” 

 

Halfway across the world, Cristiano looked at the crowded street below his tiny apartment and nodded. “Yeah, beautiful, Iker.” 

 

The stars were out for Cristiano. Iker was shading his eyes from the sun. 

 

“I knew you’d like it here,” Iker said softly. 

 

“Yeah.” Cristiano swallowed past a lump in his throat. He wished they could just quit pretending. “Yeah, I like it here a lot.” 

 

Iker drew the curtains. He collapsed onto his bed and pulled out his laptop. “Want to skype? My roommate won’t be here until later. We don’t have classes for the rest of the day either, so I’ve got time if you do. Besides, I’ve got to show you what I bought for you at the airport.” 

 

“Wish I could. But it’s getting late,” Cristiano said. “I’m going to head to bed soon. You should get out and explore the city a little. If you’re going to be there the entire semester, you should know your way around. I’ve never studied abroad, but I can’t imagine getting lost will do you any good.” 

 

“Yeah,” Iker laughed softly. “I’ll explore a little. I’ll send you pictures. Maybe I’ll make a friend or two.” 

 

“Don’t make too many friends.” 

 

“Don’t want to make you jealous, yeah?”  There was a long pause, and Iker’s smile faded. 

 

“I want you to come home,” Cristiano said. He closed his blinds. 

 

“It’s only a semester.” 

 

“I know. Yeah. Have fun.” 

 

“L-love you,” Iker choked out. He cleared his throat. 

 

“Yeah, same.” Cristiano hung up. He threw himself on his bed and pulled his pillow onto his chest. He hung on to it like he used to hang on to Iker. He allowed himself a minute to mope before hopping up and making dinner, taking a shower, and cleaning up to meet his new roommate. 

 

He refused to think of the new roommate as Iker’s replacement. Just because that was how he met Iker didn’t mean that anyone could impact his life the same way Iker had. Iker was Iker, and that was that. 

 

His new roommate arrived late, rubbing his eyes and leaning against the door. He stumbled in when Cristiano opened the it. He was nothing like Iker. His hair was light where Iker’s was dark. His face had a cramped quality where Iker’s was perfectly mapped out, like constellations or heaven. He was messy and tired, and Iker was calm, composed, and beautiful when he walked in for the first time. 

 

Fabio was an art student at the local community college. He didn’t have much money, but neither did Cristiano, and their rent was pretty cheap, so they were a good fit. He was the opposite of Iker in that respect too. When Iker walked in, he was working to become a journalist. His family was wealthy, but Iker was setting out on his own, renting out the cheap apartment with Cristiano because he wanted to save up to pay his parents back. Where Iker was refined and cheerful, Fabio was quiet, messy, and sad. 

 

“Sorry, I had to watch my little cousin,” he said. He dragged in a sleeping bag, a duffel bag, and a large pillow with “FABIO” written in all caps, black sharpie, messy handwriting like he’d just learned to write. “Do I get the couch?” 

 

Cristiano gave him a friendly smile. “No, there’s a room right next to mine. The heater breaks every once in awhile. Sometimes the blinds don’t close. People used to throw eggs at the window all the time because there’s a dick drawn in sharpie that we--I-- could never scrub off. Just keep it closed and you won’t get hit.” 

 

“Oh.” Fabio scratched his chin. He looked a little lost. “Oh, alright. That sounds okay actually. I used to sleep under the bridge, so this is way better. Do you have a bathroom?” 

 

Cristiano tried not to look at him like he was crazy. “Yeah, the bathroom is over there. I shower in the mornings on weekdays, and normally at night on the weekends. But don’t be afraid to move my schedule around. I don’t mind.” 

 

“Okay.” Fabio was still staring curiously at the bathroom, and Cristiano wondered how long he’d been homeless, wandering the streets for shelter because he didn’t have enough money and his own home was overcrowded with younger siblings and relatives who needed beds and heat more than he did. “Anything else I should know?” 

 

Cristiano put a hand on his shoulder. He guided him towards the empty room. “Yeah, lots, but we can talk about it over breakfast. Unless you have class?” 

 

“No. Class is at one on Fridays.” He shook the hair out of his face, looking up at Cristiano expectantly. 

 

“Alright. Then breakfast. Get some sleep.” 

 

+ 

 

There was a loud knock on the door, and Iker jumped. He’d been trying to finish up an article to send to an online paper that actually paid pretty well, but it just wasn’t working out. He was in Madrid for Christ’s sake. His roommate was out having fun, and he was sitting in his darkened hotel room, moping about being separated from his boyfriend and freaking himself out over some article for an online newspaper. Ridiculous. 

 

He crossed the room to open the door, sighing loudly. “Hello?” he asked expectantly as a tall man with green shorts and a violet t-shirt came into view. He was smiling cheerfully, snapping an elastic band on his wrist. 

 

“Hello,” he said, blissfully unaware of how blinding his outfit was. “I’m Sergio, your new roommate. I think? Maybe I got the wrong room. If you’re Iker, I got the right one this time though.” He leaned towards Iker conspiratorially and whispered, “I knocked on someone else’s door just a second ago and he literally slammed it in my face.” 

 

Iker smiled. He stretched out his hand. “You got it right this time. I’m Iker.” 

 

“Iker,” Sergio repeated, committing it to his memory. “Good. You’re much nicer than the yeller. I’m glad we’re roommates.” He slid past him with his suitcase, handing a duffel bag and a beanie to Iker to hold for the time being. “So, since you got here first and you look like the Mother Hen type-- no offense-- I’m going to rely on you to make the house rules.” 

 

Iker grinned. “Alright. Uh, I don’t mind parties or noise, just not when I’m writing. I have a hard time blocking it all out. Just let me know when people are over so I can leave if I have to. I eat breakfast pretty early and, if you want, I can leave some extra out. I shower in the morning on weekdays and at night on weekends, normally, but there doesn’t really have to be a set schedule.” 

 

Sergio shrugged, smiling easily. “I don’t really care. Breakfast sounds good. You’re awesome for doing that. I can make dinner normally unless we’re eating out because, I know I don’t look like it, but I’m actually a pretty good cook.” 

 

“Dinner sounds great.” Iker hauled Sergio’s duffel bag onto his bed. “I bought a ticket to the Real Madrid game. Now that we’re in Madrid, I actually get to see them play. If you want, I can grab you one? My dad used to work for them, so it’s really no trouble.” He looked a little embarrassed. 

 

Sergio’s eyes lit up. “Are you fucking kidding me? Of course. Jesus fucking Christ. Absolutely. Man, that’s amazing. I’ll find a way to repay you, I promise. Just tell me the price--” 

 

“Nah, don’t worry about it, seriously. It’s just nice not to have to go alone, you know?” 

 

For the first time since meeting him, Sergio looked serious. “I know,” he replied. 

 

+ 

 

Iker fell asleep sometime after meeting Sergio. They fell into an easy understanding. Sergio showered, and he padded around the room quietly. When Iker awoke, he was still sitting in his towel at his desk, typing out a long email. He minimized the screen when he saw Iker was awake. 

 

“Hey, Iker. Jesus, you slept the day away. The night is more interesting anyway, huh?” He grinned devilishly, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Got any ideas for what we’re going to do? Our first night in Madrid?” 

 

“Hm,” Iker hummed mildly. “I actually have a massive headache, so I was just going to stay in. But you go out, enjoy yourself, and tell me everything. I’m relying on you to force me into doing something fun when I’m feeling up to it.” 

 

Sergio smiled again. “Of course. I’m holding you to this, man. This is your one free night. The rest of the nights are mine, and I’m going to make you live it up.” 

 

“I won’t let you down,” Iker joked. 

 

Sergio held his hand to his heart, mockingly touched. He stood up in his towel and moved around the room like he wasn’t even concerned about it slipping. All at once, as he was bending over, it fell down and pooled around his feet. He didn’t even look up. 

 

“What do you think?” he asked, turning to Iker. “Red shirt and green pants or white pants and neon yellow shirt?” 

 

Iker was pointedly not looking at his cock. “Uhm, neither. None. None of the above.” He stared at the space between Sergio’s eyes. “Wear jeans and a normal t-shirt or something. You’re going to look like a fucking candycane in red and green, and the neon yellow hurts my eyes.” 

 

Sergio pouted. He didn’t seem to notice Iker’s reaction to seeing him naked. “Alright. Ripped jeans, white belt, and green polo shirt?” 

 

Iker sighed. Sergio’s terrible fashion sense was probably the only thing in the world that could have distracted him from Sergio’s perfect body. “It’ll do.” 

 

Sergio snorted. “It’ll have to do. It’s the most boring outfit I brought.” 

 

“We’re going shopping tomorrow before my first class.” 

 

Sergio smiled. “Fine.” 

 

+ 

 

Cristiano knocked on Fabio’s door at 7:30 am. He figured it was a decent time to wake someone up. At the first knock, the door opened, having not even been fully closed, and Fabio rolled over, wide awake at the slightest sound. His hair was all over his face, greasy and unwashed, and his cheek had a smudge of dirt on it. 

 

He rolled out of bed, rubbed at his hair to get it out of his face, and stood at the foot of the bed, looking panicked and out of place. “Cristiano?” he asked uncertainly, as if they hadn’t been corresponding via skype for weeks before deciding to become roommates. 

 

“Yes,” Cristiano answered politely. “Breakfast is ready if you want it. Otherwise, you can get back to sleep. Sorry, I didn’t realize this was early for you.” 

 

“No problem. They used to start work early on the bridge every morning, so I’m used to it.” He smiled faintly. “It’s different in a bed though. I thought I might not wake up. It’s so comfortable.” 

 

“Yeah,” Cristiano replied. “Sleep is supposed to be like that. Maybe those bags under your eyes will disappear if you get some more of it.” 

 

Fabio shrugged halfheartedly. “Maybe. I’ve always considered them permanent.” 

 

Cristiano rolled his eyes and waved Fabio over. “Come on. I made pancakes. If you make me waste them, I swear I will kick you out.” 

 

At first, Fabio’s eyes widened and he hurried towards the table silently with his head bowed. Halfway to the table, he looked up, his eyes brightened, and he laughed. “Oh,” he said happily. “You’re joking.” 

 

“I’m--” Cristiano surveyed Fabio helplessly. “Yeah. Please. Breakfast.” 

 

Fabio sat down, immediately digging into his meal. He shoved the pancakes in his mouth like he hadn’t seen proper food for a month, which in reality, was probably close to the truth. “These are really good,” he mumbled. He used the fork like he’d never been taught to eat with one properly. 

 

“Thank you. I normally make it. Sometimes I’ll leave it out for you. Otherwise, there’s always fruit on the counter and in the refrigerator.” Cristiano watched him for a second before shaking his head lightly. He cleared his throat and referred to a list on his phone. “There’s medicine in the cabinet. Don’t take too much. I really don’t want to have to drive you to the hospital. Alcohol is below the medicine cabinet. You can take it all. I don’t drink, so it’s all yours.” 

 

Fabio blinked. “If you don’t drink, why do you have it?” 

 

“It was Iker’s--” Cristiano scratched his chin. “Uhm, Iker was my roommate before you.” 

 

Fabio made soup with his syrup. He scooped it onto his fork and licked it cleanly off. “And where is he now?” 

 

“He’s in Madrid, studying abroad.” 

 

“He used to live here, but he’s rich enough to study abroad in Madrid?” 

 

Cristiano studied Fabio carefully. He bit the end of the pencil he was holding above a grocery list. “Yeah, he comes from a pretty wealthy family, but he’s one of us. He works hard for everything he has.” 

 

Fabio wiped his hands on his pants. He nodded thoughtfully as he chewed. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it.” He paused, chewed, swallowed, and looked up at Cristiano with wide eyes. “You must miss him a lot.” 

 

Cristiano bit his lip. He thought about Iker’s offer to skype, his quick refusal, his anger upon hearing about Iker’s plans to study abroad, and how he’d effortlessly hidden that anger from Iker. “Yeah,” he answered quietly. “I do miss him a lot.” 

 

“What happens when he comes back? Is there an extra room or something?” 

 

“No.” Cristiano added more pancakes to Fabio’s plate. “He won’t live here anymore. He’ll probably find his own place. We’re-- he’s not sure yet. But he’ll probably have some sort of writing job by then, so.” 

 

“So he’s a writer?” 

 

“Journalist.” 

 

“Ah.” Fabio brightened. “Scum of the earth.” 

 

Cristiano grinned, his eyes lighting up for the first time since Iker’s departure. “Exactly. 

 

They fell into things easily after that. Neither of them had a car, so they walked to Fabio’s classes together. Cristiano continued on to his odd jobs. He worked as a tailor (Wednesdays only), a plumber (Monday, Tuesday, and Thursdays from 1-3 pm), a coach at a public school a few blocks away from their apartment (Fridays and every other Thursday during the kids’ lunches), a hairdresser (only on weekends), and a babysitter whenever he could. He kept busy, and he saved well. He wasn’t particularly wonderful at anything other than coaching and football, but he could learn the other things well enough. They only hired him part time because he wasn’t great, but he made do. 

 

Normally, especially when he thought about Iker, he felt like he was working towards nothing. He felt like he was saving all his money up only to let it rot in his bank account. 

 

He sent some home to his mother sometimes. She still lived in Portugal and, although he was grateful she sent him to live a better life in the United States, he felt as though he didn’t climb the ladder far enough. He would always be the poor one, the underachiever, and the world belonged to the rich. More than anything, he was frustrated with his position in life, and he was frustrated with the frustration that played his mind like a chessboard. 

 

Finally, after a week of being apart, he picked up the phone and called Iker. They’d been texting a bit, but mostly things like “Hope you’re settling in okay” and “I hope you remembered to pick up milk. Remember we were low when I left.” 

 

“Do you have a second to skype?” Iker sounded tired. It was the middle of the night in Madrid. 

 

Cristiano set down his fork. He hadn’t expected Iker to pick up. He motioned for Fabio to continue eating, and he went to his room. He shut the door and sat down on his bed. He touched his forehead, overcome with something he didn’t recognize. “Yeah, let me get out my computer.” 

 

“Okay.” Iker looked at Sergio’s sleeping form. He let himself out into the quiet hallway of the dorm. A drunk couple stumbled in, giggling, and Iker shut his eyes. He just wanted to be that happy with Cristiano again. He opened skype, called Cristiano, and waited breathlessly for him to pick up. 

 

Cristiano’s computer was old and slow, and the camera on it was never very clear, but Iker could still make out his features. He was sitting shirtless on his bed, wide-eyed, a delicate smile pulling his lips apart. 

 

“Hey,” Iker said softly. He hung up his phone and pulled his computer onto his lap. “Hey, Cris.” 

 

Cristiano waved. “How’s Madrid?” 

 

“It’s perfect. You’d love it. I’m going to a game tomorrow.” 

 

Cristiano smiled. He shook his head and made a funny expression. “God, I’m so jealous of you right now.” 

 

“I know. Trust me, I wish you were here.” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

Iker looked mildly upset that Cristiano didn’t return the wish. He tried not to let it bother him. He knew everything about Cristiano. He knew that the full extent of what he meant normally didn’t come from his lips. His touches, his glances, and occasionally his well-placed, meaningful but monosyllabic responses were what really counted. 

 

“I made a friend,” Iker announced, after a brief lull in the conversation. “You’d like him. Or, maybe you wouldn’t-- I don’t know. He’s kind of crazy, but he’s fun. He forces me to have fun once in awhile too. And I got that job with the online paper.” 

 

“That’s great.” Cristiano touched the screen with his hand, and then he looked away like that was too tender, too caring, not like him at all. Iker swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I’m--proud of you. I knew you would get it.” 

 

Iker shrugged. “It’s just an online paper, but--” He paused to compose himself. “I’m happy. Thank you.” He blushed. “Uh, so how’s the new roommate?” 

 

“He’s perfect. He used to live under the bridge.” Cristiano smiled fondly at the thought of Fabio attempting to eat politely and daintily with a fork and knife but ending up dropping them both under the table. 

 

“Under the bridge?” Iker echoed in disbelief. “Is he alright? Is he, you know, _safe_?” 

 

Cristiano frowned. “He’s perfect,” he said defensively. “Nicer than all the other ones I’ve interviewed, and he gives me my shower time. He likes my cooking, and he even gets me babysitting jobs with his cousins every once in awhile.” 

 

“Good.” Iker nodded. He tried not to feel replaced. “I’m glad you guys are getting along. I know you’re sort of picky with who you live with.” 

 

Cristiano snorted. “Yeah, _I’m_ the picky one.” 

 

Iker smirked. “Are you kidding me right now? You’re definitely the picky one. Do you remember how long it took for you to warm up to me?” 

 

“That’s because you came in wearing shoes that cost more than the rent, you fucking idiot.” Cristiano tried not to let his smile take control of his features, but he lost and even his eyes lit up. 

 

Iker touched the screen with his hand like Cristiano had done earlier. “Miss you more than you know.” 

 

Cristiano nodded and, with some difficulty, murmured, “Don’t forget to come back to me.” 

 

+ 

 

When Iker returned to the room, Sergio was sitting up, listening to music on his phone and reading a book entitled _The Great Cat: Poems about Cats_. He shut it when Iker entered, set it on the nightstand beside the bed, and took out his headphones. He looked up at Iker expectantly like an eager puppy. 

 

“Oh, sorry,” Iker mumbled. He set his computer on the table near the window. He closed the drapes. “Did I wake you?” 

 

“Nah.” Sergio pulled the covers up to his shoulders. “Were you watching porn out there? Because if you were, you know you can just put in headphones and have at it in here. I really don’t mind.” 

 

Iker half chuckled, half choked. “No, Sergio, I was just talking to--” He cut off and got into bed. “Uh, just skype.” 

 

“Oh, nice.” Sergio smiled. He looked like he was in the mood for a conversation. “Who were you talking to?” 

 

Iker sighed. He looked Sergio dead in the eye, expecting some sort of freak out to occur just after delivering the news. “My boyfriend.” 

 

Instead of storming out of the room, throwing his hands up and calling Iker something he’d been called too many times throughout his life, Sergio grinned and nodded, “Nice, very nice. What’s his name?” 

 

“Cristiano,” Iker answered warily, a little surprised. “He’s from Portugal actually, but his mom sent him to live with his dad in California when he was nine. His dad died when he was pretty young, and he’s been alone since then. He’s, uh--” Iker looked down at his clock. “Well, it’s time to get to bed--I should-- get to bed, yeah.” 

 

Sergio rolled his eyes. He flicked on the second lamp. “No, sit and tell me. I want to hear more about this Cristiano fellow. He sounds like an interesting young man.” Sergio stroked at his scruff jokingly. 

 

Iker smiled faintly. “He is. He’s brave about everything, even when he doesn’t need to be. He works like five jobs, all part time. He’s the best at coaching football-- playing it too. He could have gone pro or something, I mean that, but he was never given the opportunity, so he lives in this shitty apartment, but he makes do, and he never complains. I can tell he’s angry, but he just channels it into this good stuff--” Iker looked down at his feet shyly. “I don’t know-- Before him, everything was different.” 

 

“And now what? You’re here and he’s there.” Sergio played with the volume controls on his headphones. He raised his eyebrows at Iker, not argumentative, just curious. 

 

“I know. It doesn’t change how I feel. It just changes how things are set up.” Iker pictured Cristiano in his boxers, walking softly across the floor to sit at the dinner table with his new roommate. “I feel like I’m betraying him by traveling to Madrid, somewhere he’s always wanted to visit and doing all these things. I feel _guilty_ because I was given the opportunity and he wasn’t. With just a little more luck, he could have been so much more, but he wasn’t given any. Not a single shred of luck, and he’s done all this anyway.” 

 

Sergio pulled the covers up to his chin. “You know what, Iker?” 

 

“What.” 

 

“I don’t have any wisdom to give you because I’m in the same position as you are. I’m here. I get what I want most every day. I had a nanny when I was younger. I got to travel the world when I was _thirteen_. I’ve been to fucking _Singapore_ when there are people starving on the streets. I feel guilty too, but I don’t do anything about it. If you feel like you’re betraying him, do something about it. You know, man? Don’t store up all this negativity because then it just gets poisonous, and if you love him as much as it seems like you do--” Sergio shook his head. He let out a low whistle. “Well, I wouldn’t want to fuck that up if I were you.” 

 

Iker blinked. “I thought you said you didn’t have any wisdom to share.” 

 

Sergio shrugged. “I surprise myself.” 

 

Iker stepped into the hallway again, and he called Cristiano back. This time, when Cristiano picked up, Iker breathlessly spat out, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m here and you’re not. I wish you could be here. I wish that you had everything I have and that I was the one working every single day just to put food on the table. I wish I could take on your pain because I--” Someone walked down the hallway, and Iker turned towards the wall. He pressed his forehead against the cool wallpaper and waited for the woman in the violet dress to pass. “--I love you,” he finished quietly. “You know that’s true. Please don’t-- Please don’t hate me for leaving you because I _am_ coming back. I promise that I will come back, and I will be the same person who left you.” 

 

“There are job opportunities there,” Cristiano said. Iker almost groaned into the phone. He should have opened with “I love you” and not said anything else because only then would Cristiano be forced to face the words. “In Madrid. Wasn’t the whole purpose of this Study Abroad trip to find a job-- hopefully there? Isn’t that the point of the program?” 

 

“Yeah, but there’s no way they’ll give me a job here that I won’t be able to transfer over back home,” Iker replied, rubbing the back of his head. “They’re not going to force me to move out here. This is my last semester at university. They’re going to send me home.” 

 

“Iker,” Cristiano said slowly. “You can be really fucking stupid.” 

 

“Cris,” he groaned back, “I’m really trying to be all romantic here with the I love you’s and I miss you’s and all this shit, and you’re fucking with my mojo.” 

 

He thought he heard Cristiano smile faintly. “Alright, fine, I miss you too.” There was a pause. “And I love you. I just don’t like to waste those words like you do. If you say them all the time, they lose their meaning. Only say them when you really mean them, Iker.” 

 

So very slowly, Iker told it to him again. 

 

+ 

 

The next few months were the hardest because they agreed to keep their relationship exclusive. They had the conversation, and they both thought it was ridiculous that they even needed to have the conversation because they’d been together for nearly two years when Iker decided he was going to study abroad. It wasn’t hard staying loyal because Cristiano only wanted Iker and Iker only wanted Cristiano, but there were times in the middle of the night when the two of them were just dying to get off, nothing romantic, just dying for a little affection. 

 

The first slip-up occurred when Iker was at a club with Sergio. They were dancing, and Iker danced with a young man with the darkest eyes he’d ever seen. They were brown like the richest chocolate, and the shadows under his eyes made them appear a shade darker. They shone with excitement when Iker turned to dance with him. Iker was a terrible dancer, but the younger man guided him, and soon they were pressed up against each other, the heat of the dance floor intensifying every movement. Everything was a thousand times more desperate than it should have been.  

 

The stranger’s beginnings of a beard rubbed against Iker’s cheek, and he let out a low groan. “Do you have anywhere to be?” he shouted over the music, his breath on Iker’s neck. It felt too intimate to not respond to. 

 

“Not really,” Iker yelled back. 

 

The younger man pulled him from the dance floor into the quieter hallway leading to the bathrooms. He pulled him into a deserted alcove on the side, near a drinking fountain and a trash can. “I’m Cesc,” he said, and his eyes were still shining. “And I don’t have anywhere to be either.” 

 

“Iker.” He stuck out his hand, but Cesc ignored it, not unkindly. He was staring at Iker too eagerly to notice the outstretched hand. “Uhm.” Iker stuffed it back into his pocket. “So do you live here?” 

 

“No,” Cesc said. He turned on and off the drinking fountain. Some splashed on his shoes, and he shook them out. “I live in Barcelona. I’m just here visiting a friend. I saw you with Sergio earlier. We’ve been friends for years.” 

 

“Really? How do you know Sergio?” 

 

“He used to date my best friend, but--” Cesc made a sour expression. “It didn’t end so well.” 

 

“Oh, what was her name?” Iker hadn’t heard a thing about Sergio’s dating history, and he was curious beyond belief. 

 

Cesc shot Iker a confused expression. “His name is Gerard.” 

 

Iker took a shocked step back. “I-- _oh_.” 

 

Cesc looked like he pitied him. “Come on, you had to have known.” 

 

Iker shook his head. “No, not really. I thought I was the only one around here.” 

 

“Yeah, you and this entire club.” Cesc snorted. He slapped Iker on the arm. “It’s okay. Sergio doesn’t advertise it. He just lets people find out when they find out. It’s not a big deal to him. Or maybe it is and he just hides it really well.” 

 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

 

There was a brief pause, and then Cesc lit up again, “So you want to get out of here?” 

 

Iker hesitated. He wasn’t sure exactly what Cesc meant but judging by what Cesc looked like (hot, like, really hot) and from how they had danced together (boners pressing against boners, lots of grinding, ass touching, etc), he got a pretty decent picture. 

 

“I can’t,” he said. There was a shred of disappointment in his voice because Cesc would have been a good fuck. He could tell just by looking at him. 

 

Cesc bit his lip. “Got a boyfriend?” 

 

He nodded. “Yeah.” 

 

“Is he here?” 

 

“No, he lives in the States.” 

 

Cesc lurched forward indelicately, grabbing Iker’s shirt roughly, and kissed him like Iker was his only source of oxygen. When he came up for air, he licked his lips. He shrugged. “Homewrecker,” he said with a shrug. “Find me when you realize it’s worth it.” 

 

Cesc walked away, and Iker was relieved about that, but a dull sense of panic settled in over his chest. He didn’t feel like staying or dancing or speaking after that. He found Sergio calmly chatting to the bartender about how many drinks one person should be able to order at a time, pulled him aside, and shouted in his ear about really, _really_ needing to leave. 

 

Without questioning it, Sergio threw money down on the bar, didn’t wait for change, and helped a numb, almost entirely unresponsive Iker to a cab. The doors shut behind them, and Sergio pulled out his money. He gave the address to the cab driver, and Iker rested his head against the cold, glass window. 

 

“So, do you want to tell me why you dragged me out of there before I could get properly drunk?” 

 

“I fucked up. And you-- I’m pissed at you, but that’s not important right now.” 

 

“Whoa, what? What the fuck did I do?” 

 

Iker was starting to feel sick. He could still feel Cesc’s lips against his own, and he was torn between hating himself for maybe kissing the other man back and fantasizing about the feel of his lips over and over and over again. His fantasy didn’t stop there. While Sergio was attempting to interrogate him, Iker’s mind was picturing Cesc on his back. He was pounding into him from behind, sweat pouring down his back, and then he was leaning down to create a possessive mark on Cesc’s neck. 

 

“I met Cesc Fabregas.” Iker felt like he couldn’t breathe. He put his head between his legs. “I’m going to puke.” 

 

“Yeah,” Sergio sighed. “He has that effect on people.” 

 

“And you’re gay.” 

 

“You know you’re not supposed to use that as an insult anymore. It’s politically incorrect.” 

 

“No,” Iker groaned. “I mean--” He lifted his head up and leaned back against the seat. “You’re gay. You’re strictly dickly. You want your asshole stretched open by a giant cock. You want to suck dick. You like penis. You want to fuck a man. You’re _gay_.” 

 

Iker had to give credit to the cab driver for not moving an inch. He continued to drive as if the conversation wasn’t going on behind him. Iker wondered what other colorful conversations he’d had to endure. 

 

Sergio blinked. “So he told you about--” He swallowed, “--Gerard.” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think it was important. I thought since you already were, it wouldn’t bother you.” 

 

“It doesn’t bother me,” Iker almost shouted, appalled that Sergio would even think it would. “But I put myself out there when I told you about me. I was, like, flipping my shit because I had to tell you. I thought you weren’t going to want to be my roommate anymore, and then you don’t even fucking tell me that you’re gay too. What the fuck was that all about? Did you really not think that would be a good time to tell me about your sexual preferences?” 

 

Sergio turned completely sideways to look at him. He touched one of Iker’s hands gently. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Iker. I’m very sorry I didn’t tell you. I trust you. You’re the only person here I really value as a friend, and I would hate to lose you over something this silly.” Iker wouldn’t meet his eye. “I’m sorry,” he repeated with a tone of finality. 

 

“It’s okay,” Iker mumbled. “I feel stupid for yelling at you over that. I’m not really pissed. I just would have wanted to know.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

Iker put his head in his hands again as the guilt washed over him once more. “And I kind of fucked up on my own, so my head is a little--” He made a whirring noise with his mouth. 

 

Sergio kept his hand on Iker’s. “What the hell happened to you tonight?” 

 

“Cesc kissed me,” Iker moaned. “He kissed me, and I may have kissed him back, and I also may have really wanted to fuck him. Like, so bad. And I might still want to fuck him.” 

 

“Ah,” Sergio said delicately. He patted Iker’s hand comfortingly. “The kissing part can be explained. Just tell Cristiano that you made a mistake, that this guy hit on you, kissed you, and you were so surprised that you kissed him back. You’ve been with Cristiano for awhile. He will understand.” 

 

Iker nodded morosely because Cris probably would, but that didn’t make him any less freaked out to tell him. 

 

“As for the wanting to fuck Cesc part...” Sergio shrugged. “Hell, I want to fuck him, and I hate that piece of shit more than anything else on this godforsaken planet. Cheer up, Casillas. And call your boyfriend tonight.” 

 

When they got back to the dorms, Iker pulled out his phone, dialed Cristiano’s number with shaking hands, and waited for him to pick up. Instead, an unfamiliar voice was on the other hand. “Holy on one moment please,” said the stranger. “Cristiano will be out of the shower in one second.” There was a beep on his end, and then, “Cris, hurry up. I don’t know how to put this thing on mute. My phone doesn’t have this many buttons.” 

 

Iker paced the length of the room and then, finally, after what seemed like ages, Cristiano spoke hoarsely into the phone, “Iker?” 

 

“Do you have a second?” 

 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Iker heard a door close on Cristiano’s end, the springs on his mattress, and the familiar sound of his soft sigh as he fell back against the bed. 

 

“Please don’t be mad at me--” 

 

“Oh, boy. Whenever you start something that way...” 

 

“I know, I know, but please-- I was at a club tonight, and I was dancing with some guy, and then we went into the hallway-- I don’t know what I was thinking, alright?-- and he kissed me, and I kissed him back. He asked me if I wanted to go someplace with him, but I said no, but I wanted to. Cris, I wanted to.” Iker stuck his head in the pillow. He bit his hand, waiting for Cristiano’s reply. 

 

There was a long, long pause on the other end. All he could hear was Cristiano’s steady breathing, which should have been comforting, but instead it was menacing. “You didn’t fuck him?” 

 

“No. We danced, and we kissed. That’s all.” 

 

There was a second, even longer pause, and Iker bit his hand harder. Finally, “If you ever fucking do this again, I swear, Iker...” He trailed off, but the threat hung in the air like a beaten piñata stripped of its treasure. 

 

“I know.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Is that all? You’re not going to give me the silent treatment for a few days or tell me to fuck off or break up with me?” 

 

Cristiano paused. He traced the lines on his palm. “I’m not sure what the silent treatment would accomplish seeing as I hardly get to speak to you as it is. I don’t think it’s worth it to break up over a little grinding and lips touching--” 

 

“Ass grabbing. There was ass grabbing.” 

 

“Oh,” Cristiano said, “If there was ass grabbing-- that’s where I draw the fucking line. We’re done.” 

 

“Don’t joke like that,” Iker said quietly. He didn’t smile. “Cris, don’t joke like that. I need you, and I’m all the way over here. You can’t say that kind of stuff.” 

 

“Iker. Relax.” Cristiano rested his head on his pillow, and he thought about all the times he and Iker would lay there, staring up at the stained ceiling, imagining they could see stars. “There’s no need to beg my forgiveness because you already have it. If you think I don’t look at men sometimes and think about fucking them, you’re out of your damn mind. The important thing is that I don’t act on those impulses, and that I actually love you-- and only you.” 

 

“You and only you,” Iker repeated with a tone of finality. 

 

+ 

 

Halfway through the semester, Cristiano was fired from one of his jobs. The plumbing company began asking him to go to further locations, but he told them he couldn’t make it without a company car. Part time employees weren’t given company cars, and they had to work with their own car, but he didn’t have one. And so they fired him. He raged about it over dinner to Fabio who sat there, nodding and shaking his head, raising his voice with Cristiano at all the right times. They agreed it was completely unfair, with words. They agreed to cut back, with glances. 

 

Fabio paid for the food every other week with his money from babysitting, and sometimes he sold test answers and, slowly, the rest of the liquor Iker had left behind. He mostly sold that to kids whose parents wouldn’t let them drink, so they normally paid a lot for it. They got by alright. Later, Cristiano had to start selling his old pairs of socks to the thrift shop on the corner, but it never got much worse than that. 

 

Cristiano was having a hard time focusing without Iker. Fabio was there to help, but sometimes the two of them together was just a mess. They became a pair of scatterbrained fools who sat around talking about pancakes all day until work or class. 

 

Iker was the calming presence in Cristiano’s life, the person who sat down with him and told him when he was making a mistake or when he was hurting someone’s feelings or when it just wasn’t the right time to boldly tell the truth. He taught Cristiano to understand the emotions of others’, and he taught Cristiano to care in ways he never knew about before. Cristiano instilled in Iker a sort of bravery that he hadn’t known existed, and Iker began to appreciate the things that money couldn’t buy. But apart, Cristiano became irritable and jumpy (except when he was around his roommate); Iker became more closed off. He felt less of everything unless it concerned Cristiano, and then he felt like he was on fire. 

 

They tried skype sex, but it turned into them finishing together, lying back on their beds, and saying, “I miss you so much.” And they felt emptier than ever. They agreed not to try it again, but that didn’t solve the problem of their desperation for some sort of human contact in a way that satisfied more than just their social needs. 

 

Just as Iker thought he was getting a hold of his desperation, he ran into Cesc Fabregas. Iker was just about to unlock his room door when Cesc stepped out. His shirt was in his hand, and a fresh hickey was on his neck. All along his collarbone were bite marks. A particularly dark and painful-looking one was on his abdomen, just disappearing into his shorts. 

 

He smirked when he saw Iker looking. He paused, pulled his shirt on, waggled his eyebrows mockingly at Iker, and strutted past. He walked like it was painful, but he refused to give in. He winced a little going down the stairs. 

 

Iker opened his room door to find Sergio sitting on his own bed, completely naked and looking freshly fucked. He was flipping through a magazine. “Hello, Iker,” he said, without looking up. “I’m sorry I’m not dressed. Too tired to dress.” 

 

“Why’s that?” Iker feigned innocence. “Because you were just fucking Cesc Fabregas until he turned into a walking hickey?” 

 

Sergio looked rather pleased with himself. He didn’t seem surprised that Iker knew. “Was it really that bad?” 

 

Iker nodded. “Worse, I think. He had trouble getting down the stairs.” 

 

“Good. That little shithead drives me crazy with his dancing and his...fucking hair, and his eyes, and--” Sergio scratched his chin. “Anyway, plus it will hurt Gerard if he finds out. Hurting him is always a plus.” 

 

Iker rubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palms. “Was he as good as he looked?” 

 

Sergio licked his lips. “Better.” 

 

He called Cristiano after that because he needed to stop picturing Cesc’s legs and opening him up like a flower petal. “I’m having horrible thoughts, and I need you to make it better,” he said before Cristiano could even say hello. 

 

“What? What’s going on?” 

 

“Sergio fucked that guy from the bar awhile ago. He just walked out of our room looking all hot and like he just got fucked, and he had hickeys all over him, fuck-- I don’t know what to do, honestly. I can control what I do, but I can’t control some of the things I think.” 

 

“I don’t care,” Cristiano said. “I don’t care if you think about him. Just come home to _me._ ” 

 

+ 

 

Up until three weeks before departure, Iker really did think he was going home. He thought he was going home on the last day of the program, probably with a new job besides the online, small newspaper. He thought they would try and find jobs in his hometown like he was promised. Instead, he was offered an incredible job in Madrid for at least 4 years. 

 

He waited three days before he told Cristiano. When he finally said it, Cristiano hung up. Iker didn’t have the heart to call him back and say he was thinking about accepting the job because Cristiano wouldn’t have hung up if he hadn’t already thought that. 

 

In the end, it was Sergio who called Cristiano back. He said something Iker didn’t hear. He laughed, shoved his hands in his pockets, paced the room like that, with the phone tucked against his ear with his shoulder. “Oh, wow,” he said from time to time. And then his smile faded, he nodded, and very quietly, he said, “Don’t worry, I will.” 

 

Finally, Iker stole the phone back with his apology prepared, but Cristiano was already speaking. “Look, Iker, you know how I feel about you, but if you need to leave and that’s what’s best for you, go. I’m not going to hold you back. I have enough money saved to take me somewhere interesting. I’ve been saving each month in case we-- I-- run into some hard times. But people aren’t pawns, Iker, so if you’re really going to take this job, just tell me right away and tell me what this means for us.” 

 

“I love you,” he said, having trouble breathing again. 

 

“But it’s not about whether you love me or not. It’s about whether you’re leaving or not. Don’t hold on to what we have like it’s a crutch. You can walk just fine by yourself, and you have been for awhile now.” 

 

“I can’t have us break up.” Iker’s hands were shaking. 

 

“Are you taking the job or not?” 

 

Iker shut his eyes. “Yes.” 

 

Cristiano sighed, and he didn’t speak for a long time. Then, “I knew you weren’t going to come home,” and he hung up. 

 

+ 

 

Iker started his new job, but his movements were slower, and he wrote with less passion. He and Sergio found an apartment together. The view was of the street below, but Madrid’s streets were beautiful and delicate, and Iker knew Cristiano’s view of the street was much different. There would be trash, the homeless, half-eaten sandwiches and rotten eggs, prostitutes and brown paper bags. They just lived in different worlds. 

 

Sergio noticed the change in Iker, but he rarely mentioned it. Cesc came over from time to time, and if Iker hadn’t known Sergio better, he would have thought something more than just fucking was going on. But Cesc still lived in Barcelona, and Sergio lived in Madrid. He found a permanent job like Iker, so the two of them were set in stone. 

 

Iker was slowly editing one of his own articles when he looked up to find Sergio sitting on the couch across from him. His hands were folded on his lap, and he was looking at Iker expectantly like he’d been calling his name. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Have you talked to him?” 

 

Iker bit the end of the pencil he was using. “Who?” 

 

“Cristiano.” 

 

Iker bit down on it harder. He scratched his nose impatiently. “Nope. I told you, we’re done. I had to take this job, and he couldn’t move out here. It was never going to work anyway.” 

 

“That’s it then? You don’t miss him at all?” Sergio played with the green and orange scarf around his neck, blowing on the frayed edges as Iker worked up the courage to formulate an honest answer. 

 

“Of course I miss him,” Iker answered softly. “I wish I didn’t. But he’s probably moved on. He’s probably fucking his new roommate or something. He won’t have any trouble at all replacing me.” 

 

Sergio rolled his eyes. He picked up his bowl of cereal and moved to the kitchen counter. “You know,” he said, shaking more cereal into his bowl, “You’re the one who made out with another guy over here. He never once betrayed you. He didn’t even get pissed when you told him about Cesc. Are you sure you want to go around saying shit like that?” 

 

“Yes,” Iker said defiantly, daring Sergio to continue. 

 

Sergio threw up his hands exasperatedly. “Fine, Iker, do what you want. I just think you made a mistake breaking up.” 

 

“Yeah,” Iker snapped, “So do I.” 

 

After that, Sergio worked harder to get Cristiano off Iker’s mind. He introduced him to his friends, he invited people over, he forced Iker to join the party when all he wanted to do was mope in his room or pull out his phone and call Cristiano and beg him to take him back. 

 

Finally, “This is Xavi,” Sergio said, and he pushed forward an irritable looking, short man with spiky hair and dark eyes. He was better dressed than Sergio was, in neutral colors like he was trying to hide. He nodded to Iker, looking quiet and out of place. 

 

“Hey,” he said apologetically once Sergio left. “Sergio does this to me all the time. He just shoves me at his friends and expects something to work out.” 

 

“Yeah, same.” Iker took a cautious sip of his drink. “But he’s just trying to help.” 

 

“Yeah, he means well, but that’s what gets him into trouble.” 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“That’s what got him into trouble with Gerard. I mean, that’s how they met.” 

 

“Ah.” Iker took another sip, and he offered a beer to Xavi who took it happily. “I haven’t heard much about Gerard, but I get the impression he and Sergio don’t get along very well.” 

 

Xavi smiled. Iker liked the way even his smile was sharp. “They fucking hate each other. Sergio’s a good man. He doesn’t mean to fuck up the way he does, but it happens, and he has to suffer the consequences. He cheated, and Gerard got back at him very, very cruelly. After that, it was like a war zone.” 

 

“Jesus,” Iker murmured. “And I thought my break-up was bad.” 

 

“Your break-up?” Xavi echoed carefully. He looked at Iker expectantly. His eyes were dark, but they shone. “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking...” 

 

Iker took a huge gulp of his drink and, choking and spluttering, he answered, “I moved here. He stayed in the States. I promised I would come back home, but I didn’t, and at the end, I didn’t even consider it.” 

 

“Broken promises,” Xavi mused. “A different kind of betrayal.” 

 

Iker set down his drink, looking even paler and shakier than usual. “I should go,” he said, but he didn’t move, and neither did Xavi. 

 

It shouldn’t have surprised Iker that it ended the way it did. He hadn’t slept with anyone in nearly a year. He was sick of waiting for something that was never going to happen, so when Xavi gave him the look, made the offer, and held out his hand, Iker followed without question. 

 

It was hard and explosive, and Iker needed it like that. He rolled over when it was finished, turned to face the wall because he couldn’t look at the man beside him if it wasn’t who he needed it to be. He pulled the sheets up to his chin. He bit his lip until he tasted blood. 

 

“So you’re still in love with him?” 

 

Iker nodded. “Of course,” he said like it was a silly question. 

 

“I’m still in love with mine too. Fucking people you don’t care about will help,” he promised. “It feels better when you allow yourself to feel nothing.” 

 

“And it shuts Sergio up.” Iker laughed humorlessly. 

 

+ 

 

It was six months after Iker should have come home, and it was pouring rain outside. It didn’t really snow for them, thank God, because the heater was starting to act up again. It was nearing Christmas, and it didn’t seem right to have Christmas without Iker. It didn’t seem right to be away from him any day, but Cristiano made things work like he always did. 

 

Fabio was still surprised at how wonderful living in a house was. Sometimes he rapped on the heater with his knuckles and whispered something to Cristiano about how it was incredible. Cristiano rolled his eyes, and tugged Fabio to his feet, pulling him into a tight hug to warm him up. They had become good friends, close allies, more like brothers than people who simply shared a home. 

 

“Do you celebrate Christmas?” Fabio asked. He picked the peas out of his soup, putting them in a little dish next to his bowl. When he was finished, he slid it over to Cristiano who took it without question. 

 

“Yes. I normally do. We can’t buy a tree or anything because they’re too expensive, but we-- I-- used to use the fake plant in the corner as a tree. I decorated it with just whatever we had lying around, and we’d-- I’d-- put the presents under it. It works just like a normal tree.” He stared down at his soup unhappily. 

 

“You and Iker used to do those things?” 

 

There was a long pause because they hadn’t really spoken about Iker. Fabio didn’t normally ask invasive questions. He had come to understand that Cristiano and Iker were more than just friends, and that Iker was supposed to come home. He hadn’t seen Iker around lately, so he assumed something had gone wrong. 

 

“Yeah,” Cristiano answered finally. “We used to celebrate Christmas together because Iker’s family was always traveling. They used to invite him along, but he told them no so he could celebrate here with me.” Cristiano fished around in his soup for the peas. He removed them one by one, putting them carefully into the same dish Fabio had put his. “They didn’t approve of us. His family hated me because they didn’t approve of Iker being gay, and because I’m poor. Maybe if I had been rich-- maybe then, it would be okay for their son to love who he loved.” 

 

“Loves,” Fabio corrected quietly. “I’m sure he still feels that way.” 

 

“No. I hope he’s moved on. He deserves to feel better.” 

 

“Feel better.” Fabio laughed quietly under his breath. “Cris, it’s not like he was sick. Besides, you can’t just cure stuff like love.” 

 

Cristiano pointed at Fabio with the end of his spoon. “Have you ever been in a relationship?” He didn’t ask cruelly, just plainly and curiously. 

 

The smile faded from Fabio’s lips. “No. Who in their right mind would ever want to date the boy under the bridge?” 

 

“You’re not the boy under the bridge anymore,” Cristiano reassured him firmly. 

 

“I will be again when you leave,” he said sadly. 

 

“What are you talking about, Fabio?” 

 

“You’re thinking about leaving, aren’t you?” He pulled his sleeves down over his hands. “You’ve saved up enough. I know you’ve been looking at ticket prices. You don’t have to hide that from me. I can take it. Just don’t let me be lost when you go.” 

 

Cristiano looked at him for a moment. The distance grew between them like a thin wire until Cristiano opened his mouth to speak, to snap the wire and close the distance once more. “I’ve already talked to the school. I want you to take my place as coach of the team.” 

 

Fabio looked up, eyes widening. “Are you serious right now?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

Fabio leapt up, rounded the table, and threw his arms around Cristiano, who struggled to remain serious. He laughed into Fabio’s embrace. He smelled like lemon soap, and his clean hair fell across Cristiano’s face. Finally, he stepped back and returned to his seat. He looked embarrassed. 

 

“Thank you,” he said, forcing every ounce of his meaning into those words. 

 

“You’re welcome,” Cristiano replied which meant _Anything for you_. 

 

“So, where are you going?” 

 

“Madrid,” he answered, without hesitation. 

 

+ 

 

It was January of the next year, and Iker and Sergio were still best friends. Sergio was still fucking Cesc, and sometimes he bought him gifts. They fought a lot because Cesc was always flirting, always trying to seduce someone else, and Sergio began marking him even more possessively. Sometimes Gerard’s name was thrown around like a weapon, but eventually Cesc began spending more time in Madrid than he did in Barcelona. He ignored calls from his family, his tenant, his friends, and he slept the days away between Sergio’s sheets. 

 

Iker and Xavi grew closer too. They fucked sometimes, but mostly they just felt lost together. It wasn’t a good way to be, and they agreed to make each other better. Xavi was just hired at a law firm a few blocks away from where Iker worked. They grabbed lunch together most days. They swore not to mention their exes. 

 

They were eating at their usual place, and Xavi was telling a story about someone who worked in his building, about how he always filed the papers wrong, and Iker was laughing into his hand, feeling better than he had in a long time. The door opened, and Iker paled. 

 

“Iker,” Xavi said, glancing over his shoulder to see what was freezing Iker up, “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he joked. 

 

“I have,” Iker murmured. He pointed to the door. 

 

Cristiano was waiting in line for his order. He was wrapped in an old gray coat. His scarf looked new, and he used less gel in his hair. He didn’t look as tan as he had back home. He was smiling down at his phone. 

 

“Is that--” 

 

Iker stood up, and the chair squeaked against the floor. Cristiano looked over, and a calmness passed over his features that made Iker want to press him against the wall and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. 

 

Iker almost knocked over his chair trying to get there fast enough. He stood in front of Cristiano, and he touched his forehead because he was overcome with something he used to understand. “Do you still--” He cut off because the weight of the question made it difficult to breathe. 

 

"Yes. Of course," he said, like it was a silly question. 

 


End file.
